


Gas Station Picnics

by one_black_coffee



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Late Night Drives, M/M, Shoplifting, Stargazing, it's really all just pure fluff, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_black_coffee/pseuds/one_black_coffee
Summary: “I’m j-just trying to have fun, Stanny.”“And this is your idea of fun? Driving for twenty minutes, away from out tiny ass town to an even tinier town, in the dead of night, to a fucking gas station? We’re going to die out here and there’s no way in hell anyone but Ben would be willing to drive out here to get our dead bodies.”Bill shouldered open the glass door into a world of buzzing white lights, rows of over-priced and under-filled chip bags, and more dirty magazines poorly concealed under more family friendly magazines than one could see in a lifetime.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Gas Station Picnics

“It’s dark as hell, Bill, we’re gonna get killed out here.”

“Oh, hush, Stan! Where’s your s-sense of romance a-a-and ad-adventure?” Bill hopped out of the driver's seat of his old truck and started towards the little gas station shop.

“I fucking left it in bed,” Stan said, catching up to Bill and shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Where we would still be if you hadn’t gotten any bright ideas.”

“I’m j-just trying to have fun, Stanny.”

“And this is your idea of fun? Driving for twenty minutes, away from out tiny ass town to an even tinier town, in the dead of night, to a fucking  _ gas station _ ? We’re going to die out here and there’s no way in hell anyone but Ben would be willing to drive out here to get our dead bodies.”

Bill shouldered open the glass door into a world of buzzing white lights, rows of over-priced and under-filled chip bags, and more dirty magazines poorly concealed under more family friendly magazines than one could see in a lifetime. A tired looking kid with his cap pulled low over his eyes sat behind the counter, reading a fat novel.

“I c-can drive you h-h-home if you want.”

Stan scoffed, “And what? Leave you here to die alone? Absolutely not.”

“Then s-stop bitching and h-help me find stuff.” Bill began walking down the closest row to the door. Stan, of course, followed.

There were poorly stocked shelves of chips and popcorn on either side of the two. Bill dragged his fingers along the white metal and Stan couldn’t help but cringe at the idea of how many people had touched those shelves before Bill. He’d lose his shit if Bill tried to touch him at any point after that without washing his hands but the idea of a gas station bathroom wasn’t much of a comfort. 

“What stuff, exactly, am I supposed to be helping you find?”

Crouching to look at the bottom rack of chips, Bill said, “Oh, anything y-you want.”

Stan crouched down beside him, careful not to touch anything. “You are broke as hell and I didn’t bring any money with me when you woke me up and told me to get in the car.”

“I’m not th-that broke. Besides, I-ve b-b-been helping Maggie with yard w-work after school and sh-she pays me.”

“Richie’s mom is paying you to do yard work?”

Bill grinned over at Stan. “Mhm! Has been for a week now. F-f-five bucks an hour. I’m basically l-loaded.”

Stan stared at him in disbelief. Bill hadn’t kept a thing from Stan that wasn’t majorly important in all the years he’d known him. “And you never thought to tell me this because…?”

“I wanted to s-surprise you! And I sorta h-h-hoped you’d be proud of me,” He added the last bit on without looking at Stan, suddenly very interested in judging how much air was in the top of the chip bag he’d picked up.

“You’re a loser,” Stan couldn’t help the affection that practically oozed from his words, “but I am very proud of you.”

Bill smiled to himself but kept shuffling through the same four bags of chips, comparing the prices and amount of food in each. “J-just go get whatever y-y-you want and come back so I can pay.”

“Because you’re so loaded now?”

“Exactly, Staniel, you’re g-getting it.”

“Whatever,” Stan said, straightening, “just don’t get caught shoplifting again. And put on hand sanitizer or something before we leave.” He walked away before Bill responded, heading towards the candy aisle.

There wasn’t much of a selection--- gummy bears, airheads, gum, and some bags of off brand candies that looked too old to be sitting on the shelf. Stan bypassed most of it, not really expecting much but still willing to try. He kept his hands in his pockets and kept glancing from Bill to the kid behind the counter. Briefly, he wondered how suspicious he looked--- out in the middle of the night, hands pushed firmly into his pockets, and continuously looking between the only other two people around--- but he had yet to see the worker so much as turn a page so he didn’t worry much.

The aisle down which he was walking was shorter than the chip aisle and had even fewer choices. Knowing Bill, there was a good chance he would be ecstatic to have any sugary candy at all and Stan couldn’t say he wouldn’t also eat anything he could find coated in sugar.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Stan mumbled to himself, casually glancing around to check for any obvious security cameras before slipping a handful of packaged airheads into one pant pocket, and a two ring pops into his other. After enough time spent with Richie and Bev, Stan learned to justify their habits of “permanently borrowing” from stores.

Glancing back to check on Bill--- he’d moved on from the bottom shelf to the other side of the aisle with a bag of white cheddar popcorn under his arm--- Stan moved on to the line of coolers in the back of the store. Bill had told him to get whatever he wanted, and while he had no intentions of letting Bill pay for anything that would cost more than six dollars, there would be no harm in at least  _ looking  _ at the drinks. And if a couple somehow found their way under his hoodie or into the front pocket that would just be a lucky surprise for later.

The cold air seeped through the doors of the coolers and the entire wall buzzed with electricity. None of that made Stan feel any better about being there. As quietly and as quickly as possible, he grabbed two energy drinks--- white for himself and mango for Bill--- before glancing around to make sure the clerk was still paying absolutely no attention to his customers. He wasn’t. So Stan crossed his arms over his chest in the most casual way possible that would also hide and keep the drinks from falling out of his hoodie. As he passed by, he also snagged a bottle of chocolate milk that was promptly shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

If the owners of the gas station were really so careless as to let Stan get away with shoplifting so many items, they really had this coming. That’s how Stan justified his actions, at least.

“Billy?” Stan made his way back over to Bill who had since collected a bag of salt and vinegar chips and--- Stan assumed, based on the way he awkwardly had one hand bunched up in his sleeve while the other held the bags of chips--- some other good that Bill didn’t intend to buy.

“Find a-anything y-you want?”

“Um, no, not really,” Stan said--- entirely for the benefit of the cashier, though he still looked completely unaware of everything happening around him--- but shifted just enough for Bill to hear the slight crinkling of plastic coming from Stan’s pockets.

“I said I c-c-could p-pay,” Bill whispered.

“I know, but why pay when you could… not?” Stan whispered back.

Bill huffed a little. “I  _ want _ to p-pay for stuff f-f-for you, dumbass.”

“Then pay for the salt and vinegar chips. You know I’m not sharing those with you so pay for those.” That was a complete lie and they both knew it. Stan would smack away anyone else who tried to share his food but he was too weak for Bill.

“Fine. Now g-g-go wait in th-the car.” Bill handed his keys to Stan who took them more out of surprise than of actual want to wait in the car.

“Didn’t I already tell you I wasn’t going to leave you to die alone?”

“You d-did but you look awkward a-as hell standing like th-that. The guy w-w-would know if y-you went up w-w-with me. So go, I won’t be l-long.”

Despite the unease he felt at leaving Bill alone and walking back to the car by himself, Stan snorted and mumbled, “That’s what she said.”

“I fucking hate you f-for that.”

“You know you love me.” Stan kept his voice low and pushed away the smile he felt creeping up. Being so obvious with Bill in Derry during the day felt dangerous, being obvious way out in the middle of nowhere in the black of night felt like a death wish.

“Maybe just a little,” Bill was just as cautious, standing far enough away from Stan that to anyone too far to hear their words they’d seem like any regular old friends. “N-now leave. I’m realizing how l-late it really is.”

Stan rolled his eyes but made his way out of the shop and to the car. He unloaded everything from his pockets and from under his hoodie into a plastic bag he found in the car door. The two ring pops were left on the center console, both unwrapped and sitting on their wrappers.

When Bill returned, before he said anything, Stan said, “choose one” and gestured at the ring pops between them.

“Did you s-s-steal these?”

“Obviously. So choose one.” He gestured again.

Bill pointed at the strawberry ring and asked, “Why?”

Stan shrugged, taking the ring pop and sliding it onto Bill’s finger for him. “Might as well get used to it, I guess.” Then he took the remaining blue raspberry ring and slid it on to his own finger.

A year or two ago, Stan’s meaning would have been lost on Bill. Even after years of close friendship Stan could be so vague about what he meant, it took time for Bill to decode situations. At that moment, however, Bill grinned. “Oh? Is Stan being r-romantic and th-thinking about our f-f-future?”

“If you ever wake me up at two thirty in the morning to drive to a shitty little gas station half an hour away from our home again there will be no ‘our future’.”

Bill giggled and reached over to put his hand next to Stan’s, liking the way the two ridiculous candy rings looked side by side. “Bullshit. You love me too much.”

“I don’t,” Stan replied, knocking Bill’s hand towards the steering wheel and buckling his seatbelt. “Take me home now, will you? I’m fucking hungry now but my hands have gas station germs all over them and I can’t find the hand sanitizer I left in here before.”

“Oh, it’s o-over here.” Bill reached down into the car door pocket and pulled up the mini bottle of hand sanitizer, then tossed it to Stan. “And um… I can t-take you home i-i-if you really want but I sort of h-had a different idea?”

Stan snapped the lid of the bottle closed and placed it in the cup holder closest to him. “What sort of different idea?”

Sheepishly, Bill reached into the backseat with the flashlight of his phone pointed at a pile of blankets and pillows. “Star watching picnic? I-if you want--”

Stan cut him off before he could doubt himself more,“Yes, I absolutely want that. That sounds fucking perfect and I would like nothing more than to sit in the back of your truck with you and a shit ton of blankets and pillows and all the food we just got and stargaze. That sounds like the ideal way to spend time.”

“Y-you’re sure? It is really l-late and all.”

Stan shook his head, taking Bill’s hand and leaning forward to make eye contact with Bill. “It could literally be five in the morning and if you wanted to drive to the middle of nowhere to stargaze and eat terrible gas station food, you better know that I would be tagging along whether you wanted me there or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stan started to back up to his own seat satisfied with that response. “H-hey, wait. Can I kiss you?”

“We’ve been together for years, yes, of course you can kiss me, Bill. You don’t need to ask anymore.”

“I know.” Bill leaned over to give Stan a chaste kiss before settling back down and starting the car. “I just l-like hearing y-y-you say it.”

It didn’t take long to find a suitable pull off.

Bill drove a ways down the dirt road until they both agreed they could see the stars well enough and grabbed two blankets each, with Stan carrying the plastic bag of food and drinks and Bill carrying the four pillows he had brought along. Bill climbed onto the bed of the truck first, discarding the load of pillows and blankets before taking Stan’s items so he could pull himself up.

Bill laid two of the blankets down on the metal of the truck, propping all four pillows up into the corner. Stan unpacked what they had gotten, setting everything down and making sure they were all balanced.

“Are you c-c-cold?” Bill asked once the food and drinks had all been laid out in front of them and they had settled down on the blankets.

“A little. Are you?” Stan had the sleeves of his hoodie pulled down past his hands so the cold of his drink wouldn’t freeze his hands.

“Not really. Y-you can have m-my blanket, if you w-want?”

Stan considered his offer for a moment then shook his head. “I think it’s better if we conserve body heat, actually.”

“What does that even mean?”

Stan rolled his eyes but there was no true exasperation behind the action. “It  _ means _ open your blanket so I can crawl in there with you and wrap my blanket around us too.” Bill was more than happy to listen to Stan.

It only took a few moments of maneuvering for them to find a comfortable position for the two of them. One blanket was draped over their shoulders while the other had been spread out over their legs. Stan curled himself as far back into the pillows as he could get and Bill curled himself into Stan as much as he could while still allowing room for them both to eat and drink.

“Did I grab the right kind of chocolate milk?” Stan asked after a few minutes of idle chatter.

“There’s no such th-thing as a wr-wr-wrong kind of chocolate milk.” Bill had only been drinking his chocolate milk. The energy drink Stan had snagged for him sat unopened by a different bag Bill had insisted Stan wait to open.

“Are we staying out here all night?”

Bill yawned against Stan’s shoulder. “If w-we don’t, you have to d-drive us home. I’m too t-t-tired to drive.”

Stan hummed, lightly tracing patterns onto the back of Bill’s hand where it rested on Stan’s knee. “I’m too happy to drive us back tonight.” He admitted, though it was hardly a secret that Stan would happily run away with Bill and never return for anyone but the rest of The Losers.

“Mm, want to be even h-happier?”

“Is that possible?”

Bill nodded and reached out to grab the bag next to the energy drink. “Here. Open it.” He dropped the bag in Stan’s lap and continued to sit up to watch Stan’s reaction.

Stan, upon untying the bag to find two miniature cherry pies stacked neatly at the bottom, broke out into a massive grin. “Did you get these when I went back out to the truck?”

Bill nodded, smiling so sweetly in a mixture of exhaustion and pride at making Stan so happy with just a few simple gestures of kindness. “I know y-you don’t really like p-p-pie and all but I know y-you’ve always wanted to t-try cherry pie, so I g-grabbed a couple.”

“Cherry pie just sounds like--”

“‘A Hozier-esque song th-that you’d hear s-s-sapphic fairies and m-mushrooms singing when you e-e-enter the Fairy Court’, I know. You've said that m-many times, Stanny.”

Stan blushed lightly, loving the fact that Bill had memorised anything Stan had to say. “Well, it’s true. That’s exactly what ‘cherry pie’ sounds like. You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“Sounds like a sex thing.”

“Oh fuck you, man!”

“I’m just saying, it does!” Bill said.

“That doesn’t mean you needed to  _ say it _ ! Now that’s all I’m going to be able to hear when I think of cherry pie now!” Stan complained, lightly punching Bill’s arm.

“Aww, I’m s-sorry. I take it back. It d-d-doesn’t sound like a s-sex thing. It sounds like a Hozier song, y-you’re right.”

“Thank you very much.”

Bill fiddled with the hem of the blanket. “...Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah, Bill?”

“Can we eat the pies but l-l-like we were b-before?” He moved closer to Stan, careful to still give Stan as much space as he wanted, not wanting to push any boundaries but also missing using Stan as a pillow and source of heat. Stan didn’t need to answer. Wordlessly, he shifted the blanket so there was once again a space in which Bill could fit right against Stan, and Bill wordlessly accepted Stan’s offer by fitting himself against Stan.

They ate their pies in relative silence. Occasionally, Bill would point up at random stars and whisper stories in Stan’s ear about each of them and how they fit together. Stan listened to each story, each word, with great interest. Bill’s stories had always been a source of comfort for him. He cherished each one Bill felt comfortable enough to share with him, drowning in the overwhelming feeling of  _ trust _ .

Stan collected their empty bottles and pie containers, set them to the side, and pulled Bill closer until his head was resting on Stan’s chest.

“Thank you for all of this. I’m sorry I bitched so much about waking up earlier. I really am very genuinely happy right now, Billy.”

Bill snuggled closer to Stan, shifting enough so his face was buried in Stan’s neck. “I like it when you’re happy. I like making you happy.”

Stan could feel Bill’s smile pressed into his skin and that alone set his heart on fire. “You always make me happy, love.”


End file.
